


The Seeker's Game

by andheaventoo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Clueless Boys, Drinking, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Kissing, Lots of kissing, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Quidditch, Rutting, Seekers, broomshed, seeker's game, thinly veiled excuses to start kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 12:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19334509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andheaventoo/pseuds/andheaventoo
Summary: Everyone gets drunk, Harry and Draco are challenged to a Seeker's Game, and Harry uses potentially underhanded diversionary tactics to win.“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, Potter,” Malfoy murmured into his ear, sending heat straight to Harry’s thickening cock, “but you are not going to get the best of me.” With that, he ground his hips into Harry and Harry heard himself groan because he could feel Malfoy’s now fully hard cock pressing against his own. His head tipped back at the sensation, hitting the wood with a dull thud.





	The Seeker's Game

It's late—long past curfew, though Harry isn't exactly sure of the time. They're all sitting around in the eighth year common room. They've been drinking, because they're allowed to do that now, and because they have plenty to drink about. Harsh memories from the war cut with the intoxicating jubilation of being free now, free to be young and stupid and to take their time figuring it all out.

Harry sits slumped in an armchair, his feet dangling over one arm. He swirls the remaining firewhisky around in his glass, looking around the room but not really paying attention to anyone in particular. Ron and Hermione are tucked into the armchair across from him, whispering to each other and looking about five minutes from excusing themselves to one of their rooms. Seamus and Dean are snogging against the wall, never caring much about PDA even when sober. Parvati and Lavender are holding hands while talking in a group to Ginny, Luna, Michael, and Terry. Harry thinks absently about how many of them have coupled up in the aftermath, while he had uncoupled. Well, he and Ginny hadn't technically been a couple any more, but they'd officially decided it would stay that way. Watching her now, he wondered if she and Michael would re-couple at some point this year. The thought failed to provoke any of the jealousy it would’ve done just two years ago.

The sound of his name broke through Harry’s hazy revery.

"If you don't think Harry could take you, you're barking," Seamus was saying, having detached himself from Dean's face to become absorbed in an apparently heated discussion about the Quidditch House Cup.

Harry turned to find out what drunken skirmish he was being pulled into, glancing over just as Malfoy was taking a pull from a mostly empty bottle of firewhisky. He watched the tendons in Malfoy's long, slender neck work as he swallowed the liquid, wiping this mouth with the back of his hand. Malfoy was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, leaning against the couch at the feet of Pansy and Blaise, who were watching the proceedings with bored amusement. Pansy was playing idly with Malfoy's hair, and Harry wondered (not for the first time) what their relationship was, exactly.

"I think we both know," Malfoy interrupted himself with a small hiccough, "who was the better seeker."

"Oh, do we?" Harry called across the room. Many things had changed after the war, but his inability to leave Malfoy alone was not one of them.

Malfoy whipped his head toward Harry, a flush high in his cheeks—from the fire or the whisky or both—and a smirk curling his lips. "Oh yes, Potter. I have no doubt."

Seamus was rolling his eyes. "We were just talking about who has odds to take the cup this year," he said, "and Malfoy said it was a shame that eighth years weren't allowed to play, because he would've flattened the poor sop seeking for Gryffindor—his words, not mine—and I said if eighth years were allowed to join, Slytherin'd be the ones being flattened because Gryffindor would have _you_ , Harry. And he said, 'I fail to see what difference that would make.'"

"Thank you, Finnegan, for that rousing recap," Draco said drily.  
  
"You know," said Harry, quickly warming to the topic, "we haven't actually faced off since the beginning of fifth year."

"And if memory serves, you got yourself thrown off the team shortly thereafter. Not exactly something that would happen to a model player, hm?"

Harry felt heat rise up his neck. "You're leaving out the part where I'd just caught the snitch from under your nose," he retorted.

Malfoy glared, eyes hard but cheeks pink.

"I think I know how to resolve this little dispute," Pansy interjected, clapping her hands together. All heads turned to look at her, the argument having by now drawn the attention of most people in the room. Pansy paused, savoring the attention. "Seeker's game!" she announced.

"Sure," said Harry. "Tomorrow after lunch. Quidditch pitch."

"No, no, no." Pansy shook her head. "I say we settle this right now."

"But it's dark," Neville protested.

"It's after curfew," Hermione reminded them.

"I'm in," said Malfoy, not looking at Pansy but instead gazing levelly at Harry.

Harry hesitated. "Unless you're too drunk to perform?" Malfoy goaded him. And there it was again, the strange quality that had been bugging Harry all year. Malfoy hasn’t been any nicer to him, but his barbs had become more...loaded. Like he was trying to communicate two things at once. Harry was never sure if he was being dense or just reading too much into things.

Harry's insides squirmed but his conviction stealed. "Absolutely not," he said. "I'm in too. Let's do it."

It took nearly ten minutes of scrambling for warmer clothes, trips to the bathroom, and last-minute shots ("for warmth") before everyone was ready to go. They left the common room in small groups, not wanting to alert any professors of their rule-breaking. Malfoy left with Pansy and Blaise in one of the first groups, glancing back at Harry before disappearing through the portrait hole that served as the entrance to their common room. Harry followed several minutes later with Ron and Hermione.

"You sure you want to do this, Harry?" Hermione whispered as they tiptoed down the stairs toward the entrance hall. "I mean, firewhisky and all, you're not exactly at top form."

"Harry could beat the ferret with both hands behind his back," Ron declared, clapping Harry on the back, a little harder than he probably meant to. "Nearly has done, hasn't he? Remember first year?"

Harry had to admit that his vision was swimming a little, and he was possibly a little unsteady on his feet. But there was no way he was going to back down from a challenge from Malfoy, even if they had agreed back at start of term to let bygones by bygones. And if Harry got a little thrill from picturing Malfoy straddling a broom, robes whipping behind him as he dove for the snitch, well, that was neither here nor there.

A few minutes' chilly walk later, they joined the group by the broomshed, which someone had spelled open. Seamus was carrying the trunk with the Quiddditch balls out of the broomshed as they approached. Seeing Malfoy already in possession of his broom, Harry ducked into the shed to grab his Firebolt.

"Still riding that old twig?" Malfoy sneered.

"Dunno how many times I have to tell you: a broom's only as good as its rider," Harry retorted. The rhythms of their sniping banter felt familiar, but almost so much so that it felt like they were following an old script they'd memorized years before. He wasn't sure what it would mean to go off script, now.

Most of their group made their way into the stands, sipping from flasks concealed under robes. Harry and Malfoy followed Pansy and Seamus, their self-appointed referees-slash-captains, out to the pitch. Harry snuck glances at Malfoy, searching for signs of inebriation that might impair his flying ability. By Harry's count (and he had been counting), Malfoy'd had at least as much firewhisky as Harry had. Aside from the color in his cheeks—no surprise Malfoy was a blusher when he drank, with that pale skin—he wasn't displaying any outward signs of drunkenness, the git. Of course he could hold his liquor—or at least give the appearance of doing so.

Someone—Harry guessed Hermione—sent up several glowing orbs to hover above the stands, shedding some light on the shadowy pitch.

"Right then," said Seamus when they reached the center. "Seeker's game. You both know the rules. I'll release the snitch. You wait 30 seconds before you go after it. Whoever catches it first wins."

"Yes, we've all played a seeker's game before, thanks," said Malfoy.

Seamus ignored him, crouching down to open the trunk and extract the snitch. He held it carefully between his thumb and forefinger as the wings fanned out and began fluttering agitatedly.

"Boys," he said, "take your brooms."

Harry positioned his Firebolt between his legs, watching Malfoy do the same with his sleek black and silver broom. Malfoy met his eyes across the grass, neither of them breaking eye contact as Seamus released the snitch and began the countdown for them to chase after it. Malfoy's eyes were bright and unblinking as he gazed at Harry. Harry felt a buzzing anticipation in his limbs, which he chalked up to eagerness to fly. It had been a while since he'd taken his broom out just for the fun of it.

"Five, four, three, two, one!" Seamus yelled.

In perfect sync, Harry and Malfoy soared into the air. Harry gave a whoop of pure elation as he felt the brisk autumn air whip around him, blowing his overgrown hair into his face and tugging at his robes. He didn't even pay attention to where Malfoy went for the first minute, just savoring the rush of moving through the air on his broom, how he almost seemed to be directing it with his thoughts. He ascended in a wide, looping corkscrew, the ground dropping father beneath him with each second. Eventually he pulled himself up short and paused to survey the pitch. He could see Hermione and Ron huddled together in the stands, sitting near Luna who had somehow smuggled her lion's headdress out of the castle. His eyes sought out Malfoy, who was lazily gliding around the goal hoops at the other end of the pitch.

For a few minutes, they circled the field, keeping a wary distance from one another and eyes peeled for the snitch. At one point, Harry thought he saw something sparkle near the ground and started to dive toward it, only to realize it was a sickle someone had dropped in the grass. He pulled out of the dive. Malfoy was hovering above him, having shot over at the sight of Harry's dive.

"False alarm," Harry said.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I hope you don't think I'd fall for that feint of yours, Potter. You've only used it in every other match you've played at this school."

"And yet you followed me over here anyway."

"If one hasn't found the snitch, it only makes sense to keep an eye on the other seeker."

"Sure, Malfoy," Harry said, but as Malfoy started to fly away, Harry kept his eyes on him. He really was a graceful flyer. Harry had been called a natural on a broom, but with Malfoy you could see real technique in his form that only came from years of practice, growing up on and around broomsticks. Whereas Harry gripped his broom fiercely and hunched over the handle as though to bend it to his will, Malfoy's grip was loose and assured, and his movements had an easy elegance to them that Harry was not sure he could replicate even if had grown up around broomsticks as Malfoy had.

This time, they kept closer together, eyes scanning the air around the pitch but also drifting back and forth between them. Harry might've felt self-conscious about the attention he was directing at Malfoy, but he was gratified to observe that Malfoy kept as close an eye on Harry as Harry did to him. He noticed that if he drifted too far away, Malfoy would subtly close the gap between them. Malfoy's gaze was a familiar weight on his back after years of mutual awareness and following each other around, although he had to admit the gaze had felt different this year. Less derisive, more... inquisitive. Almost appreciative, at times, as though Malfoy were appraising him. Harry was distantly aware of the yells and cheers of their friends in the stands, but it wasn't real to him the way his broom, Malfoy, and the night air swirling around them were.

After what must have been ten or fifteen minutes with still no sightings of the snitch, Harry slowed his pace so that Malfoy would catch up with him. They floated in midair, only a couple feet between them, high above the pitch. The stands were almost in shadow below them, murky in the darkness.

"Have you seen anything?" Harry asked. "Maybe it is too dark. I've never played Quidditch at night before."

"Or maybe it's because you're wearing those ugly smudged glasses."

"Well since you're clearly trailing me, d'you want to help me clean them? Otherwise it's the blind leading the blind." Harry let his broom drift closer to Malfoy, close enough that if Malfoy were inclined, he could indeed pluck Harry's glasses off his face and clear the lenses with a cleaning charm.

Malfoy looked distracted, peering at Harry with an unfocused sort of expression. It was then that Harry noticed a glint of gold over Malfoy's shoulder, just a couple feet away. He could almost reach out and grab the snitch, if only he could do so without alerting Malfoy first. He needed a distraction.

_"Kiss him."_

The idea popped into his head, seemingly out of nowhere. His eyes dropped to Malfoy's mouth. He was frowning slightly, but his lips looked soft and unthreatening when viewed from this close. Without thinking about what he was doing, Harry leaned over to close the gap between them and pressed his lips to Malfoy's.

If he'd thought about it, he would've assumed that Malfoy's reaction would have been to shove Harry away, to exclaim "Potter—the fuck?!" Instead, Malfoy stilled as if frozen in place by Harry's touch. Harry's eyes closed and his heart pounded in his ears as he kept their lips pressed together for several long seconds. Then he tugged himself away and—while Malfoy was still frozen—shot past him to snatch the snitch.

Hand raised over his head, snitch flapping between his fingers, Harry descended triumphantly toward the stands. As he got closer and his friends could see the snitch in his fist, they began to cheer as exuberantly as only the well-and-truly drunk can. Harry glanced behind him to see Malfoy shake himself as if coming out of a daze and start flying in behind him. Harry felt a clenching in his stomach that was at odds with the exhilaration of winning. He landed on the ground and heard Malfoy land behind him a couple seconds later. Harry quickly found himself pulled into a rough embrace by Seamus, who was jumping up and down.

"That'll show you to go boasting!" Seamus was yelling. "Who's the best seeker now?"

Harry waited for a sharp rebuttal, but instead found Malfoy to be calm and composed, almost uncannily so.

"A Malfoy knows when to concede defeat," he said, extending a hand to Harry.

Seamus let go of Harry. He stared at Malfoy's hand for a moment, thrown off by the unprecedented display of good sportsmanship, then glanced up at Malfoy suspiciously.

"The better seeker won," Malfoy affirmed.

"Er," said Harry, "right." He took Malfoy's hand. His skin was warm and soft. Harry stared at their hands clasped together, struck by how strange it felt that Malfoy's didn't feel more strange against his. He looked up to meet Malfoy's eyes, nervous about what he might see there, but Malfoy's attention had already been pulled away by the other Slytherins, who were now joining them on the pitch along with the other eighth years. For several minutes, Harry was swept up in a tide of hugging and back-slapping, whooping and good-natured jeering. Malfoy was swallowed by his own posse.

Eventually, someone said, "Back to the common room to celebrate!" and with a loud cheer, everyone began making their way back to the castle.

"Come on, Harry," said Ron, throwing an arm around him. "Let's go drink to you defeating the slimy git!"

Harry, who was not at all sure he could think of Malfoy as a slimy git anymore, glanced around, looking for him. He saw Malfoy walking alone toward the broomshed.

"Um, you go on," he told Ron. "I'll catch up. Just need to drop off my broom."

Ron accepted this and ran ahead to catch up with Seamus and Dean, while Harry turned to follow Malfoy to the broomshed. He had no idea what he wanted to say to him once he got there, but felt that something should be said.

Malfoy was polishing his broom handle when Harry stepped into the shed, and whipped around at the sound of Harry entering.

"Oh, it's you," he said. His voice lacked the usual bite it held when he spoke to Harry. It almost sounded careful.

"Just came to put my broom away," Harry said.

Malfoy acknowledged this only with a shrug. It was quiet between them as he finished polishing his handle and Harry plugged a few stray twigs from the end of his broom that had bent out of shape.

Malfoy lifted his broom onto the rack the Slytherins shared. He cleared his throat, turning to face Harry. "That was a good game, Potter. Very underhanded diversionary tactic. Almost Slytherin of you."

"That's not why I did it," Harry heard himself saying. "Well, I mean, it is, but—" he stopped, not sure what he was trying to say. He noticed, then, how small the broomshed really was and how close they were standing. There was only a foot or so of space between them. He forced himself to look at Malfoy, though his neck was heating. Suddenly he felt as though the firewhisky had caught up with him again, feeling heady and unsteady, with a sense of reckless possibility that came from not being fully in control of his actions.

"I meant it as a compliment, Potter." Malfoy's arms were folded across his chest. The posture looked almost protective. His hair was windswept and messy the way it only ever was after a Quidditch game.

"Just—" Harry bit his lip. "Just shut up, okay?" And once again he found himself stepping toward Malfoy, closing the gap between them. Now that they were on solid ground again, Malfoy was a couple inches taller than him, so Harry had to grip him by the neck to pull his face down while Harry rocked up on the balls of his feet. Their mouths met, a little roughly with too much momentum propelling them together, teeth bumping. Harry pulled back a hair’s breadth and then tried again, pressing his lips carefully to Malfoy's. Like he had in the air, Malfoy stilled beneath him, though Harry could feel Malfoy's pulse racing beneath his fingers where they gripped his neck. For what felt like a full minute, they stood like that, lips pressed unmoving, Malfoy's arms still crossed over his chest. Harry was just about to pull away when, finally, Malfoy's arms dropped and he gripped Harry's waist, pulling him in so Harry's body arched into his. Harry's tongue licked at the seam of Malfoy's lips, which parted like a sigh.

Now that it seemed Harry no longer had to hold Malfoy in place by his neck, he slipped his hands into Malfoy's hair, marveling at the silkiness of the strands and how deceptively thick it was. Malfoy made a small sound in his throat as Harry's fingers caught on a small knot, tugging. It sent a fizz of electricity down his spine and so Harry tugged again, on purpose. Malfoy tightened his grip on Harry's hips, pulling Harry's body more snuggly against his own. Harry could feel the thick shape of Malfoy's cock through their robes and fought the urge to grind into it.

Without warning, Malfoy pulled away, separating their lips with a sucking pop. Harry made frustrated noise, chasing his hot wet glorious mouth.

“What are you doing, Potter? You already won.” There was genuine bafflement in his tone.

“Don’t care,” muttered Harry, latching onto the thin, sensitive skin of Malfoy’s neck. He was pleased to hear a soft gasp, and then suddenly he was being picked up by his arse and carried forward until his back hit the wall. And that’s when he discovered that Draco Malfoy is surprisingly, extraordinarily, arousingly strong.

Pinned between Malfoy’s firm, slender body and the rough wall of the shed, Harry wrapped his legs around Malfoy’s waist.

“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, Potter,” Malfoy murmured into his ear, sending heat straight to Harry’s thickening cock, “but you are not going to get the best of me.” With that, he ground his hips into Harry and Harry heard himself groan because he could feel Malfoy’s now fully hard cock pressing against his own. His head tipped back at the sensation, hitting the wood with a dull thud.

Malfoy licked back into his mouth and Harry opened for him eagerly, letting Malfoy ravish his mouth, sucking and biting at each other until Harry’s head was swimming. Malfoy was rhythmically rutting into him, rubbing their cocks together through their layers of robes and trousers and pants and Harry’s cock was aching but it was nowhere near enough.

“Off,” Harry garbled, shoving at the material on Malfoy’s shoulders, intending to at least remove one barrier between them.

Without breaking their kiss and without setting Harry down, Malfoy released one arm and then the other, allowing Harry to push his robes off and to the floor. Harry ran his hands over Malfoy’s shoulders and down his back, savoring how his lean muscles bunched with the effort of holding Harry up. He yanked Malfoy’s shirt out from where it was neatly tucked into his trousers so that Harry's hands could slide under to make contact with bare skin, gloriously warm and soft and tensing under his touch.

“So fit,” Harry muttered as Malfoy’s mouth moved away from his lips and started working toward his neck, pressing sucking kisses to the skin just beneath his jawline.

“Potter, did you just give me a compliment?” Malfoy asked between kisses.

Whatever Harry might’ve replied came out as a groaned “Hmpfh” as Malfoy bit down on the skin where Harry’s neck curved into his shoulder, licking over the bite marks before continuing to suck with an urgency was that sure to leave a bruise.

“Malfoy, set me down,” Harry demanded with what little was left of his faculties. Despite how hot it was to be held seemingly effortlessly against the wall for minutes on end, he was getting frustrated by his lack of mobility. Malfoy had all the control.

“As you wish, Potter,” said Malfoy, smirking.

He let Harry drop back to his feet, but without releasing his grip on Harry’s arse. Almost immediately, he sank to his knees and pressed his face into Harry’s groin, using Harry’s arse as leverage to hold him in place.

Nosing Harry’s robes out of the way, Malfoy ran his mouth over the shape of Harry’s cock, visible through his trousers, open-mouthed and breathing hotly into the fabric. Harry felt himself sweating. He hadn’t even been touched yet and already this experience was the hottest thing he had ever experienced or imagined.

Malfoy leaned back. "Unzip," he said.

Harry felt breathless and lightheaded at the sight of Malfoy kneeling at his feet, hair disheveled from Harry's hands combing through it, staring up at him with intense eyes and swollen lips, his skin chafed pink by Harry's stubble. He obeyed Malfoy's command, unzipping his fly. His hands trembled and he knew that Malfoy saw.

When his button was undone and fly unzipped, Malfoy grabbed his trousers and pants and in one fluid motion pulled them midway down Harry's thighs. Harry's cock bobbed free, hard and leaking, straining up toward his stomach. Malfoy broke eye contact, staring intently at Harry's cock, which emitted several fresh drops of pre-cum as though on command. Malfoy licked his lips.

"Harry Potter has a very respectable prick," he murmured in an undertone, sounding somewhere between wondering and exasperated. Without further preamble, he leaned forward and licked a stripe up the underside of Harry's cock with the flat of his tongue, from balls to tip. Harry gasped. He'd imagined this moment many times—a fit boy on his knees for him, and yes, alright, a couple times even Malfoy specifically on his knees—but none of it had prepared him for the reality of Malfoy's tongue hot and slick on his cock while Malfoy's eyes dropped closed as though he, too, was losing himself in it.

In one smooth motion, Malfoy swallowed Harry down, so deep Harry could feel the muscles at the top of Malfoy's throat constricting and adjusting around his cock. Harry let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a moan and a gasp. "Fuck," he said. "Fuck, Malfoy."

Malfoy ignored him, now finding a rhythm, hallowing his cheeks around Harry's cock to create suction as he pulled off before sinking back down, running his tongue under the ridge around the head, teasing him.

"You've done this before," Harry panted.

There was a pause as Malfoy flicked Harry's slit with his tongue, gripping the base of his cock to hold it steady. "Once or twice," he said finally, voice throaty, after Harry had all but forgotten what he'd said.

A different heat burned under Harry's skin as he pictured Malfoy fellating other nameless, faceless men. But this train of thought was quickly pushed away when Malfoy hooked a hand under Harry's left knee and levered it into his shoulder. Off balance and wide open, Harry was suddenly aware of the vulnerable position he was in, exposed and at Malfoy's dubious mercy.

Malfoy pulled his mouth off Harry's cock with a wet pop and the air was cold on the damp saliva coating Harry's prick. He shivered as Malfoy once again made eye contact, lifting one long, slender finger to his mouth. He sucked it in, sliding it in and out the way he'd just been doing with Harry's cock. When he pulled it back out, the finger was slick and shiny. Without breaking eye contact, he reached between Harry's legs, trailing his fingers over Harry's balls and perineum until he landed on the sensitive skin of Harry's rim. Harry twitched at the contact, the sensation tearing him between wanting to pull away and seek more. Malfoy trailed the tip of his finger around the rim, massaging, while Harry's breath sped up even more and soft, low sounds surrounded them that Harry belatedly realized were coming from him. Malfoy's finger stilled then and Harry pried his eyes open. He almost came at the sight of Malfoy looking up at him with wide, dark pupils, a blotchy flush high on his cheekbones, mouth parted and lips obscenely pink and wet. His cock, presently untouched, twitched against his stomach. Malfoy sunk his finger into Harry's body.

Harry's head fell backwards and he felt his body spasming around Malfoy's finger, eagerly working to adjust to the intrusion, almost trying to pull it deeper. Slowly, almost carefully, Malfoy pressed further, waiting for Harry's body to relax between each movement. When his finger bottomed out, Malfoy crooked his finger, seeking the spot that might make Harry finally, embarrassingly, completely lose control.

"Ma- Malfoy," Harry moaned when Malfoy's finger found his prostrate, voice breaking on the word.

Malfoy pulled his finger almost all the way out to add a second alongside it. At the same time that he pressed back in, his mouth returned to Harry's cock, sucking gently around the head. Harry felt like he was spinning. Blood rushed in his ears, distancing him from everything except the pleasure being coaxed from his body. Malfoy's fingers worked deep inside his body, rubbing against his prostrate while Malfoy's other hand slid up and down his cock and his mouth surrounded the tip with glorious wet heat. Harry was aware of his moaning more as a vibration than a sound, interspersed with "fucks" and "oh gods."

Harry was creeping toward the edge when Malfoy slowed his movements, said, "Potter, look at me."

Harry looked down at Malfoy through heavy, drugged eyelids.

"Say my name," Malfoy said, quirked his fingers against Harry's prostrate.

"Fuck, Malfoy," groaned out deep from Harry's throat.

"No, not that one." Malfoy squeezed the base of Harry's cock, staving off his orgasm. "My first name. I want to hear you say it."

 _I want to hear you beg._ A prickly heat crawled over Harry's cheeks. He bucked into Malfoy's touch, cock bumping against the side of Malfoy's face, seeking his mouth. Malfoy breathed hotly over the head of Harry's cock but refrained from taking it in his mouth. His fingers moved inside Harry's body, pumping loosely into the slick and relaxed muscle, but carefully avoided his prostrate. Harry's head was foggy with the need for release.

 _"Draco, please,"_ he moaned.

Malfoy made a breathy, drawn out noise and turned his mouth into Harry's cock, mouthing at it before he pulled back enough to suck Harry down until his cock hit the back of Malfoy's throat. Harry's breath caught as Malfoy picked up where he left off, bobbing up and down Harry's cock and twisting his fingers inside Harry's body.

Harry's orgasm rushed over him then. His cock stiffened impossibly more, and then he was gasping and shooting come down Malfoy's throat—and Malfoy took it, eyes closed and sucking at Harry's cockhead until he'd swallowed every last drop.

For a moment, Harry leaned against the wall, panting, heart beating faster than it had while he raced around the Quidditch pitch. Then he reached down to cup Malfoy's chin and tried to pull him up. "C'mon," he says, "wanna do you."

He felt the heat in Malfoy's cheeks as he shook his head and murmured, "No need."

"What d'you..." Harry started, until he looked down and saw the wet patch on the front of Malfoy's trousers. He had to close his eyes again at that, felt his cock almost start to thicken again at the idea that Malfoy _came in his pants_ from sucking Harry off.

"Fuck," Harry whispered roughly, sinking down to sit on the floor, legs coming to rest on either side of Malfoy, bracketing him in.

Malfoy huffed out a laugh, leaning forward until his forehead rested against Harry's.

"That was..." Harry began, not really knowing how to finish.

Malfoy pulled back and looked him. For a moment they just gazed at each other, and then simultaneously they burst out laughing.

The laughter—improbable as it was—chased away any tension that might have followed. When they had calmed down again, Harry gripped Malfoy by the neck and tugged him close, rubbed his cheek against Malfoy's soft hair. Malfoy allowed it, winding his arms around Harry's waist.

"We should do that again sometime," Harry said.

"Obviously," was Malfoy's muffled reply. Harry grinned into his hair.

After the strength returned to their legs, they got up and tucked themselves back in, straightened themselves up enough to look presentable should they cross paths with a professor. They snuck back into the castle, arms brushing, sneaking glances at each other's shadowy forms. When they got back to the common room, Malfoy stopped Harry before he could go inside. He walked Harry against the wall and kissed him again, rough at first but soon softening until they were exchanging lazy, slow kisses, tongues pressing more than searching, lips grazing skin. Harry felt dizzy again by the time Malfoy pulled away. He grabbed Malfoy by the shirt and pulled him back in for one- two- three more kisses.

The common room was quiet when they entered. Empty bottles were scattered around the room, on tables and strewn about the floor. Seamus was passed out on the couch, snoring. Dean was asleep on the floor next to him, leaning against the side of the couch with his head tilted back to rest on Seamus' thigh.

Harry and Malfoy reached the passageway where a row of doors opened into their private rooms. Malfoy glanced around, seemingly verifying that they were alone, then captured Harry's lips in one last kiss, at once fierce and questioning. Harry gripped at Malfoy's face, trying to answer.

They exchanged a searching, heated look and then Malfoy disappeared into his room.

In bed, Harry pressed his fingers to his mouth, not quite sure he hadn't just dreamed the whole thing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://and-heaventoo.tumblr.com/)!


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